


if courage is a live wire

by redheartglow



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheartglow/pseuds/redheartglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>at eighteen, adam henrique makes a spur of the moment decision to come out to taylor hall; over the next five years, they find that their lives have become irrevocably linked. this is a story about growing up, unconditional love, and what it means to be brave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if courage is a live wire

**Author's Note:**

> written for the hockey big bang challenge.
> 
> auhee has art and a mix [here](http://auhee.livejournal.com/2106.html). go check it out because it is excellent!
> 
> [warning: since this story deals with a character coming out, it will also deal with some homophobia and homophobic language.]

The year he turns sixteen, Adam Henrique moves from Burford to Windsor for hockey. His parents are nervous because of all the horror stories they’ve heard about the Spitfires organization from previous years, but Adam still looks forward to the move with great anticipation. He loves his family, but he will do anything, give anything, to chase his dreams and live a life outside of the family tobacco farm.

Adam is going to play hockey. It’s going to be fucking awesome.

In Windsor, he fits in well with his billet family, he’s okay with his new school, he gets along with the boys in the dressing room. He becomes good friends with guys like Eric Wellwood and Greg Neimsz and Mark Cundari because they’re rookies together and that makes the transition easier. Adam and Greg and Eric mostly get bottom six minutes, usually with Adam centring while Greg or Eric streaks up the right side. More often than not, their passes connect.

He meets a lot of new people that year; he makes some new friends, casually dates some girls. With Eric’s help, he even manages to pass all of his classes at school, even _math_ —he’s so pleased with himself that he can’t even be too annoyed when the boys remind him about how shitty he is with academics.

And if, much to Adam’s confusion, he spends too much time thinking about Greg, no one really needs to know. Greg does something weird to him, makes Adam forget what he was saying mid-sentence, makes Adam kind of want to be around Greg all the time. Like, whenever Greg’s around, it’s great. Really great. 

Adam’s not sure what that means exactly. Deep down, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to think about what it could mean.

The Spitfires finish the season with just eighteen wins. It’s embarrassing but it’s not due to a lack of trying, and besides, it’s not even a franchise low. They play with heart but they just can’t seem to get it going.

“We’re going to be even better next year,” Greg tells Adam while hugging him goodbye before they split up for the summer. “The greatest.”

And Adam believes him, because after all: it’s been a pretty good year.

-

When Adam’s sophomore season rolls around, coach tells them it’s going to be a good one because they’ve drafted all these new kids: a couple defencemen who are supposed to be amazing and Taylor Hall, this kid who’s supposed to turn the entire organization around. He’s a centre. Adam maybe feels a little threatened.

Eventually, Taylor ends up getting moved to the wing. He plays on a line with Adam sometimes, and they read each other pretty well on the ice. They play together more often, their chemistry gets even better. When Taylor grins and thumps Adam’s helmet heartily after Adam scores a particularly pretty goal resulting from an even prettier pass from Taylor, Adam finds himself grinning back genuinely and decides that Taylor’s all right.

His friendships with the returning guys pick up exactly where they left off. He’s still got the same stupid inside jokes with Mark, he’s apparently still five dollars in debt to both goalies from their Euchre tournament last season, and Eric is still one of the best bros he’s ever had. Their coach still works them as hard as ever, and Greg’s stupid grin still makes Adam’s stomach do weird things that he’d rather not think about right now. But Greg’s still one of the nicest guys Adam’s ever met, so he supposes that he can sort the rest out later.

Lots of great things happen this season.

And then, just as it’s starting to feel like everything’s coming together, like it’s all starting to make sense, Adam wakes up one morning to the news that everything’s changed abruptly, that a teammate, his _friend_ , so bright and vibrant just days ago, won’t be around anymore.

Suddenly, it feels a little bit like the world’s ending.

So Adam tries to hold on tight to moments of comfort; tries to reassure himself that everything’s going to be all right. His mother comes down to stay for a week, and she’s a quiet presence who holds him close. He’ll never confirm or deny it, but if he happens to cry that week, she lets him do it without a moment’s hesitation and without the useless clichés that often go along with it. Adam tries to think about things that aren’t fucking terrible: how his billets treat him like he’s one of the family, or how the stadium’s falling apart but the fans still show up to cheer them on. Adam thinks about how the team comes together in adversity, how everyone’s been dealing with grief and tragedy in their own way. He thinks about Harry Young’s hand on his back, Eric nudging him encouragingly with his stick, Greg sitting beside him in companionable silence, Taylor determined as ever still taking crisp passes on the ice.

It’s not much; it’s not enough. 

But it’s something.

Somehow, they still manage to make the playoffs that season, a far cry from the eighteen-win shitshow of the year before, but the restlessness that’s settled over Adam, and the rest of the team, doesn’t seem to want to go away. It accumulates, and then peaks one Saturday afternoon in mid-March on a rare day off that their coach’s given them in anticipation of the playoffs. It’s unseasonably warm, so he decides to take himself for a walk as a distraction from the thoughts swirling in his head and finds himself at the rink instead.

Apparently he’s not the only one though, because as he draws closer he soon spots Taylor and his loping stride in the empty parking lot.

“What are you doing?” Adam calls out. Taylor sees him and jogs over, grinning.

“Wind sprints,” Taylor tells him. “Wanna join? Five more reps to go!”

Adam takes a look down at his own jeans and sneakers and shakes his head, opting to sit down on the curb instead. Taylor shrugs and takes off again as Adam watches, until Taylor’s finished and flops down beside him on the sidewalk. Adam just rolls his eyes but fishes out a bottle of water from Taylor’s bag and tosses it to him.

“Thanks,” Taylor says trying to catch his breath while pulling Adam into a one-armed hug, and then squawks indignantly when Adam shoves him away, spilling water down his shirt.

“Dude, you reek,” Adam says mildly. “You’ve got nothing better to do?”

“Nope.” Taylor grins, pushing sweaty hair out of his face.

Neither of them says anything for several moments.

“The _playoffs_ ,” Adam says suddenly, with hushed awe. “Think we’ll be any good?”

Taylor nods vehemently. “‘Course.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely,” Taylor proclaims. “How could we not be? We’re awesome.”

Adam makes a vague noise, trying not to let the excitement and inevitable anxiety of their upcoming venture into the playoffs get the better of him. A lot has happened in the last few months, in the last couple years, and Adam’s not sure if he’s ready for the future just quite yet.

“I just wish...” Adam starts, and then trails off, unsure. He wishes for so many things, impossible things, these days.

“I know,” Taylor says quietly when Adam doesn’t finish his sentence. And for a moment, Adam thinks that Taylor really, really might.

“Think things get easier?” Adam ventures uncertainly. “Or better?”

Taylor doesn’t answer for a long moment, distracted with unwrapping the weights strapped around his ankles. It suddenly occurs to Adam that he’s not the only one who showed up in search of a distraction this afternoon; maybe they’re not so different after all. “Better, sure,” Taylor finally says. “I don’t know if _anything_ is ever easy. But yeah, better. I mean, it’s got to, right?”

Adam thinks about this; doesn’t say anything for a long time. He hopes that Taylor’s not wrong.

“You know,” Taylor says. “Maybe we’ll go all the way this year.” He pauses. “The team, I mean. Not me and you. I don’t want to go all the way with you.” He turns to look at Adam in what Adam can only assume is a parody of a ‘come hither’ look. “Or _do_ I?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I was wondering why you passed up on an opportunity to make a joke about being easy. Now I know why.”

Taylor squints at him, like he’s about to argue, but he’s interrupted by a sudden shadow looming over both of them—

“What’re you two doing here? What part of _day off_ did you not understand?”

Adam cranes his neck up to see Bob Boughner trying to look intimidating and failing. "Hallsy was doing wind sprints ‘cuz he’s a brown-nosing keener, Coach," Adam says immediately.

"Henny was having feelings because he’s lame," Taylor counters.

Adam turns to look at Taylor. “You’re an idiot.”

"Your _face_ is an idiot," Taylor replies smugly.

Boughner gets that look on his face, the one that Adam recognizes as the _what the fuck did I do to deserve this shit?_ look—exasperation with just a hint of fondness, one that he seems to have perfected. "You’re both idiots," Boughner says, finally. "Come on, boys. I’ll drive you home."

-

Life goes on. They don’t make it past the first round, probably due to a lack of experience, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Adam goes home for the summer, back to his family, and the tobacco farm, and all the responsibilities that always seem to crop up in Burford. In between taking care of the plants, and helping around the house, he works out and hangs out with his friends. He gets drafted into the NHL and goes to the New Jersey Devils’ development camp. He thinks about penalty killing and breakaways and backchecking.

He doesn’t think about Greg or the way the new guy his dad’s hired to work on the farm takes off his shirt when the sun’s the highest in the sky.

It’s a long summer.

Eventually July becomes August, and then it’s September again and he’s back in Windsor. Adam tries hard not to think about how Windsor’s starting to feel more like home than the little Burford farm.

No one on the team is making a lot of money these days, just the stipend that they get for playing in the CHL and whatever savings they manage to save from shitty summer jobs. Then Taylor gets an endorsement deal with Easton, and suddenly he’s got more money than the rest of them combined, though one would never know it from the way he still doesn’t know how to dress himself and still uses the same gear for working out. On top of that, Taylor tells Adam that he has no idea how much money he has from the endorsement, or where the money is— _My parents, maybe? They probably keep it in a bank account. I dunno_ —just that he has it somewhere. Since Adam knows that Taylor has yet to figure out how to tell a convincing lie, and probably will never actually be able to, Adam figures that Taylor’s actually being completely honest about the money situation, which makes the whole thing even funnier.

It also means that sometimes, Taylor does things like take his friends out for lunch and even pays for the whole meal. Adam’s not one to turn down free food, so of course he goes when Taylor invites him. 

On this particular late morning, Adam suddenly finds that he can’t focus on the menu at all, that maybe this secret that he’s been keeping to himself for too long is starting to overwhelm him. And maybe if Taylor can’t help but be honest for always, maybe, today, Adam could be too.

“Hey, Hallsy?” Adam says tentatively, playing with the glass of water in front of him.

“Hmm?” Taylor says, scanning the menu.

“I’m gay,” Adam blurts out quietly without fanfare or warning, staring at the table-top, unsure of what kind of reaction he’s going to get. It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud; somehow, that makes it more _real_. And there’s no taking it back.

A long moment passes and there’s no response. For a brief, terrifying moment, Adam wonders if Taylor’s stood up and walked out in disgust.

But when Adam looks up again, Taylor is definitely still sitting there and reading the menu.

Incredulously, Adam fixes him with a stare. “...did you even hear me?” Adam finally asks.

“Yeah, no, I totally heard you, bro. I’m just _really_ hungry.” Taylor puts down the menu primly, folding his hands in front of himself. “Okay. So you’re gay.” He pauses. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Adam says.

“Like, one hundred percent sure?”

Adam sighs. “Pretty sure.”

“So you’re, like, not into girls _at all_?”

“Not really, no.”

“Okay,” Taylor says, seemingly digesting this new information. “So at least that means you’ll never accidentally knock anyone up.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Except, like, Arnold Schwarzenegger. From that movie, I mean.”

Adam stares at him in disbelief. “I just came out to you. And you’re talking about Arnold Schwarzenegger movies.”

“It’s _relevant_ ,” Taylor says defensively. He pauses. “So what do you need? Advice? I’m bad at advice, you know that. Blow jobs?”

“You are _actually_ the worst friend ever,” Adam informs him, trying not to smile. “And I dunno. Some support would be nice, I guess.”

“Support? I can do support. I can totally do that,” Taylor tells him enthusiastically. “I mean, I’ve never had a gay friend before, but I am totally, one hundred percent supportive of your gayness.”

Adam shushes him immediately. “You’re being super loud! I haven’t _told_ anyone yet, okay? Can you keep this on the down-low, please?”

Taylor instantly drops his voice to a stage whisper. “You haven’t _told anyone else_ yet?!”

Adam shakes his head.

“Why’d you tell me, then?” Taylor asks quietly, genuinely curious. “Not even, like, Welly? Or your parents?”

Adam shakes his head again. “You’re the first,” he confesses. “It just...seemed like the right time, I guess?”

Taylor looks at him, awed. “Your secret’s safe with me,” Taylor assures him, eyes wide and sincere. “Cross my heart and hope to die and all that shit.”

“Good,” Adam manages, feeling like he’s just done something big; massive. “I’d hate to have to kill you.”

“No way, man,” Taylor says. “You’re my bro. That doesn’t change.”

“I guess that means I’m stuck with you,” Adam says, trying for casual but unable to keep the relief from his voice.

“ _Definitely_ ,” Taylor says, grinning and reaching for the menu again.

-

After the lunch meeting, somehow both everything and nothing changes. Halfway through the season, they get a shiny new arena that doesn’t have crumbling rafters or showers that accidentally electrocute unsuspecting hockey players. Adam graduates from high school and helps his team win the OHL championships. They win in overtime and Adam’s on the ice when it happens; Greg too, who grabs him into a bear hug the moment the puck goes in as everyone else on their team throws himself into a screaming pile of elation at centre ice. And this sort of feels like _everything_ : Adam’s happy to let himself pretend, if only for just one moment, that it is.

Then they go to the Memorial Cup tournament, and Adam scores the goal that gets them to the finals, and they _win_ the Memorial Cup. Afterward, Adam goes stag to his senior prom with Eric and Mark. Greg shows up with his girlfriend—Adam can’t quite figure out what the weird clenching feeling in his gut is, but it’s probably too odd to think about, so he doesn’t. He graduates from high school and for the next few months, he trains, and skates, and dates girls: none of those things change. His family tells him how proud they are of him.

(Once, that summer, Eric comes to visit and they get tipsy on the front porch of his parents’ house on shitty beer. Eric throws an arm around Adam’s shoulder and tells him that he’s the best bro he’s ever had. Adam almost, _almost_ , comes out to him just then, but decides that maybe it’d be better just to let things be for now.)

And then it’s late summer again: they’ve got a title to defend and games to get psyched for— August and September become an endless cycle of working out and training camp in Windsor, Adam trying to prove to the Devils that they’ll want him, and want him bad.

It’s nice not having to worry about school, or school work, while playing. He’s at that funny stage in his life, though, where it seems like half his friends are still in high school while the others are done and have moved on—he gets invited to an interesting mix of parties. Out of habit, he often finds himself hooking up with girls at these gatherings, especially since he’s now meeting girls who are already done with secondary school. Most of the girls he goes home with are just looking for a fun night, not a commitment, and Adam can kind of roll with that even with his distinct lack of interest in boobs. And even if she ends up wanting more from him, he can usually figure it out before they get to second base and he’ll back the fuck off and drive her home, no harm done.

More often than not though, these days he’ll look up at one of these parties and find Taylor side-eying him.

“What?” Adam says, leaning into a fridge. He can feel Taylor watching him from the other side of the refrigerator door.

Taylor’s eyes dart around to make sure no one’s listening in on them and then drops his voice anyway. “Thought you weren’t into girls,” he whispers.

“I’m not,” Adam agrees, pulling two bottles out before shutting the door and straightening up.

“But—” Taylor starts.

Adam rolls his eyes and hands one of the bottles to Taylor to shut him up. “Remember the part where I’m not actually, you know...”

“Out?” Taylor supplies.

“Right,” Adam says. “And, you know. The part where there’s no gays in Windsor.”

“First of all, it’s gay _people_ ,” Taylor says. “And there are totally gay people in Windsor!”

Adam pauses with his bottle halfway to his mouth to fix Taylor with a look. “Do I want to know?”

Taylor shrugs. “I Googled it,” he says. “I Googled _what to do when your bro is a gay_ , and Google was all _that’s homophobic and you can’t call your bro ‘a gay.’_ So you are my bro who _is_ gay. And Google says there’s totally other gay bros in Windsor. So we’re just gonna need to find a gay beauty and make him your boyfriend.”

Adam stares at him for a long moment. “Were you dropped on your head when you were a little kid, by any chance?” he finally asks.

“Yes, once,” Taylor says. He leans forward earnestly. “Why?”

-

They’re two weeks into the season when Taylor corners Adam after practice, a maniacal, shameless gleam in his eye as he starts talking at a ridiculously fast clip: “There’s this new guy at school. He’s gay. And out. And seems like a good dude. And he isn’t, like, a manrocket? But maybe like, a six. Or a five and a half, at least. Also, he’s friends with this girl that I’m sort-of not-really seeing. So. Want me to introduce you?”

Adam stands there, trying to process what Taylor’s saying. “What’s wrong with you?” he manages. “And why would I want to date someone in high school when I’m finally done with it?”

“Not your thing, eh?” Taylor says. “Okay. So what’s your type?”

“You’re so embarrassing.” Adam tells him.

Taylor just smiles patiently until Adam finally relents, shrugging in defeat.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” he says.

“A gay beauty,” Taylor prompts, nodding wisely.

Adam punches him in the arm. “You’re an idiot.”

“Ow, okay, okay, fine, goddammit!” Taylor says, rubbing at his arm. He frowns at Adam. “Okay, asshole. If you could bone anyone on the team, who would it be?”

“Not you,” Adam says immediately. “Anyone but you.”

Taylor exaggerates a pout. “My feelings. They’re hurt so bad.”

“Good,” Adam says. “Why are we still having this conversation?”

“Because you didn’t answer my question,” Taylor says. “Okay, so, if it were me, I would say, like, Passingham. ‘Cuz goalies are bendy. What about you? Would you want to bone Pass?”

“Go away.”

“Come on! Who’d it be? It wouldn’t be Welly ‘cuz you’re almost like actual brothers...how about…Mark? Oh, wait, Nemo! Is it Nemo?”

Adam waits just a beat too long to answer and by the time he’s formulated a response, Taylor’s eyes have already widened in a way that Adam’s come to know represents trouble.

“Oh my god, _Nemo_?!” Taylor says, laughing in disbelief. “Your type is _Nemo_?”

“Fuck off,” Adam says. He can feel his face flushing in embarrassment. At least no one else is around to hear them.

“That’s amazing,” Taylor says. “Okay, so Nemo. Or someone _like_ Nemo, since Nemo has a girlfriend and all. But we’ll just have to find you a beauty who’s like Nemo. Don’t worry.”

“Oh _good_ ,” Adam mutters.

Taylor’s eyes suddenly widen even more and his hands land down heavily on Adam’s shoulders as he eyes him, clearly fighting back a mischievous grin. “Henny. We’re gonna find you a Nemo. Like... _Finding Nemo_. Get it?!”

Somehow, Adam resists punching him in the face. It’s a bit touch-and-go for a moment, but he just barely manages it.

-

It turns out Taylor’s actually right for once: things don’t get easier, not exactly—having someone around who kind of knows what’s up, that kind of helps—but things do get _better_. They have a title to defend, and the team’s now got a sense of credibility. Adam and Greg and Eric get A’s pasted to the front of their jerseys, and along with Ryan Ellis and Taylor, Greg and Adam even get to represent Canada at the World Juniors tournament.

(“All Spits line?” Greg asks, winking and nudging Adam on the flight to Alberta for training camps and exhibition games.

Adam looks over to where Elly is one decibel away from shouting something that sounds a lot like “Down with Yanks and Slovaks!” and, along with Taylor, seems to be engaged in a four-way slap fight with Cam Fowler and Richard Panik, earning themselves dirty looks from all the cranky-looking patrons sitting around them. 

He looks to the row behind them, where Joey, their trainer and unwitting chaperon, also tagged for their tournament, is asleep and blissfully unaware of the idiotic shenanigans of his accidental charges. Adam rolls his eyes, turning back to Greg. “If anyone asks, we don’t know them,” he says.)

The camp is succinct, and fun, and challenging, but above all things, it’s exhausting. There’s practice and drills and workouts, off-ice and on, for hours that blur into the days leading up to the pre-tournament exhibition games. If Adam didn’t know any better, he’d think that the coaches were trying to tire them out on purpose to keep them out of trouble.

The tournament doesn’t officially begin in Saskatchewan until Boxing Day, but they end up spending Christmas together as a team in Regina anyway. It’s weird, because Adam doesn’t really know most of these guys, not really, but here he is celebrating with them anyway. He thinks about asking Greg or Taylor if they find it just as strange too while they all help prepare dinner in the kitchen. But Greg’s laughing at one of the goalie’s inability to peel potatoes and Taylor seems to be busy giving Jordan Eberle his undivided attention, so Adam doesn’t say anything.

It’s stupid, because Adam’s nineteen, almost twenty now, and knows that he’s so incredibly lucky to have this opportunity to represent his country, but _still_ : he’s vaguely homesick, and his shoulder aches, and the guys won’t stop talking about hot girls at the Christmas dinner table, and he’s too tired to even pretend to care or try engaging in that conversation. He escapes the first chance he gets, begging off after the Secret Santa exchange with the excuse that he needs a good night’s sleep for the beginning of the tournament tomorrow.

When someone knocks on Adam’s hotel room door twenty minutes later, he’s already busy icing his shoulder and feeling sorry for himself. He thinks about ignoring the unwanted visitor until the person disappears, but the hammering on the door just doesn’t seem to stop, and it might actually be his roommate, or their coach trying to find out why he ditched the team, so Adam really has no choice but to sigh and make his way over to throw open the door. 

It’s Taylor. Of course it’s Taylor, wearing a stupid reindeer sweater, his hand poised in mid-knock. He lowers his hand when Adam opens the door, and puts a hand against it, like he thinks Adam’s going to close it again on him. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “Just tired.”

Taylor points at Adam’s bag of ice. “You hurt?”

“Sore. I think I jammed my shoulder in practice.”

Taylor tsks and invites himself into the room, making Adam step back and let the door shut behind them. “Do the trainers know? Did you tell Joey?”

Adam sighs. “‘Course. It’s fine. Just, you know.”

Taylor disappears into the bathroom for several moments and returns with several hand towels, which he ties together quickly to create some sort of makeshift hands-free contraption to tie the icepack to Adam’s shoulder. He steps back with a satisfied look on his face. “There. Okay?”

“Okay,” Adam agrees. He shifts his arm a little, pleasantly surprised to find that the pack actually stays in place. “Cool. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Taylor says easily. “Same thing happened to me a couple years ago during a game at the U18s. Barely even notice it anymore, mostly. Just keep icing it. It’ll be fine.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “That was two years ago.”

Taylor waves a hand dismissively at Adam.

Adam sighs again. “Did you actually need something?”

“Oh, yeah!” Taylor says brightly, like something’s just occurred to him. “You looked kind of sad at dinner. I figure it was probably because everyone was talking about smokeshows and you were feeling kind of left out? So I printed this thing for you on the hotel printer.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a slightly crumpled and folded piece of paper.

When Adam unfolds it, and peers at the picture, it’s most definitely a very pixelated, very shirtless photo of Vincent Lecavalier from some fashion magazine. He stares at it for a long moment. “Uh, Hallsy? What the fuck is this?”

“It’s Vinny Lecavalier!” Taylor says excitedly. “You’re into him, right? I Googled _shirtless hockey players hot_ and that’s what it gave me. Actually, first I Googled _manrocket hockey players_ and it gave me a bunch of pictures of Maurice Richard, which is cool I guess, but he was wearing clothes and he’s like a million years old but also dead.”

“I don’t get it,” Adam says.

“Dude! I got you this picture so you wouldn’t feel left out. Had to go look it up on the hotel computer and use their printer and everything. Man, their search history’s gonna be so weird tonight.”

Adam shakes his head and crumples up the low-res photo and stuffs it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “You’re the worst, Hallsy,” Adam tells Taylor solemnly, but reaches out his good arm to hug him anyway.

Taylor just beams at him in response, happily wrapping his arms around Adam. “Merry Christmas, Henny.”

-

They don’t win the tournament, losing in overtime during the gold medal game. The flight back to Windsor is much more subdued—Fowler’s a good guy and doesn’t even brag too much about taking the championship. Adam’s thankful for these small mercies. 

Windsor’s just the same as they’d left it, and Adam definitely catches himself letting out a big sigh of relief when the plane touches down at the airport. At least the team’s been doing pretty well in their absence.

During the first practice back, Eric grabs Adam into a bear hug when he sees him again—

“You done good, kid,” Eric says, tapping Adam’s chest where the silver medal had sat heavy around his neck just two days before.

“Me and you are the same age,” Adam grumbles good-naturedly, but returns the hug anyway.

Things go back to normal, sort of: hockey, and work-outs, and dreaming about playing professionally one day. It’s a constant and it feels good, safe. Adam goes out on a few dates with one of the girls on the Spitfires’ dance crew because Eric introduces her to him and he’s never been very good at saying ‘no’ to Eric. She’s pretty and clever and nice; they get to third base before Adam’s conscience gets the better of him and he has to break things off with her as nicely as he can. 

They play the Soo Greyhounds later that week. It’s only warm-ups and Adam already has a bad feeling about this one. It doesn’t take long before tempers are running high, and hits start getting dirty, and suddenly guys are squaring off all over the place. Adam finds that he’s no exception, breathing heavy in the penalty box as he serves his five for fighting. By the time he gets out, he mostly he just wants to finish the game with the W so they can start preparing for their next one. 

Then a rookie on the Greyhounds calls Adam a _fucking faggot_ during a face-off. It’s not the first time Adam’s heard something like this directed at him, and there’s also no way that the kid could have known about Adam’s sexuality anyway. But still.

Adam doesn’t mean to lose his temper, he really doesn’t. But something suddenly snaps inside him and he finds himself jumping the kid from behind and slamming him to the ice before he can stop himself and then finding himself at the bottom of a dogpile.

He gets ejected from the game for his troubles, his heart hammering against his ribcage as he slams his way into the dressing room. Every time it feels like things are starting to get easier, to make more sense, he feels like he ends up blindsided by something impossibly difficult. He sits down heavily in his stall and just tries to breathe.

It gets worse before it gets better: the fight earns him a five game suspension, and the news is delivered to him by his coach, calm and collected as always, but with the look in his eyes that tells Adam that he’s not angry, just really, really disappointed. It’s pretty much the same spiel he gets from his parents when they call him, except with slightly more yelling. It’s also not all that different from the awkward half-pep talks he ends up getting from Harry, and from Eric, and perhaps most humiliatingly, from Greg. 

Adam ends up spending most of the first day of his suspension moping. It’s not something he’s proud of, but the whole situation’s just kind of embarrassing and disheartening. That’s his excuse for why he’s still in bed, he decides, when Taylor barges into his bedroom the next afternoon without knocking.

“Your billet mom said you were in here and I could come up,” Taylor says in lieu of a greeting from the doorway.

Adam just pulls the comforter up over his head.

Taylor doesn’t seem to take the hint. “So you jumped a guy,” Taylor continues.

Rolling his eyes, Adam pulls the sheets down enough to look up at Taylor. “And got suspended for five games because of it, yeah,” Adam agrees.

“Shit,” Taylor says. “What happened? Did the guy say something?”

Adam shrugs.

“Oh fuck.” Taylor sits down heavily on the edge of the bed as the realization seems to hit him. “He said something. Was it super homophobic?”

Adam doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He should have known better than to let something like that get to him. But casual homophobia is still homophobia, and it had hit a little too close to home.

“Fuck that,” Taylor says, his voice suddenly venomous. “I could...I know a guy. He could, like, I dunno. Take a dump on that punkass kid’s face. Wanna do that? The guy totally owes me a favour.”

“Hallsy,” Adam says. “We know all the same people, pretty much.”

“What? No! You don’t know my life!”

Adam gives him a half smile. “I’ll be okay,” he says, hoping that he sounds braver than he feels right now. “It’s gonna suck for a bit, but it won’t matter in a week anyway. Like when you’re a kid and shoot a puck into snow bank and can’t find it again.”

For a long moment, Taylor just stares at him. “Bro, that didn’t make any sense.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Adam says. “It’s not supposed to.”

“Uh,” Taylor says. “First of all, I’m pretty sure metaphors are supposed to make sense. That’s why they’re metaphors. Second of all, you used the word ‘like.’ That makes it a simile. It’s a really shitty simile, but it was a simile.”

It’s Adam’s turn to look confused. “How the fuck did you know that?”

“Some of us didn’t almost fail twelfth grade English, unlike you,” Taylor says. He sounds pleased with himself.

“Great,” Adam says flatly. 

Taylor exhales loudly. “Shove over,” he demands. When Adam doesn’t, Taylor climbs in behind him anyway, nudging Adam over and stealing more than his fair share of blankets. Then he snakes an arm across the bed and wraps it firmly around Adam’s waist.

“The fuck are you doing?” Adam wants to know.

“Trying to sleep, dumbass,” Taylor says, and Adam can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “It’s nap time.”

Adam thinks about protesting, about shoving Taylor away, but it’s been a shitty few days and Adam is really too tired to argue. So Adam lets him. 

He’s almost even managed to drift off to sleep, when he hears Taylor start talking again, quietly this time—

“I fought a teammate, once. Ball hockey league, the summer after me and my parents moved to Kingston. I don’t remember how it even came up. I think we were all just talking about something stupid, and then some kid on my team said he wasn’t homophobic, just didn’t want dudes hitting on him. Which is fucking stupid because it’s not like all chicks are all over him all the time, you know?”

Adam hums in acknowledgement. “So?”

“So I said that. Like, I’m pretty sure I didn’t care one way or the other back then if things were homophobic or whatever, but like. That was pretty stupid. And I told him that. Because it _was_!”

“And?”

“So he asked me if I was some kind of fag. And I was like ‘yeah, a fag for your mom,’ and then he hit me so I punched him back. Pretty sure it got broken up right after that, but I feel like it was probably worth it.”

Adam pauses for a long moment, his tired brain trying to process the story. Finally, all he manages is, “That was a dumb story.”

“Yeah,” Taylor agrees. “Probably.” He yawns widely, and settles in snugly against Adam. “You’re still my boy, Henny.”

“If our dicks touch, it’s your own fault,” Adam says, closing his eyes.

“Oh darn,” Taylor says sleepily, but doesn’t move away, and Adam supposes that he’s glad he’s here.

-

Adam jolts awake when the bus hits a pothole. He yawns and looks around: from the surround sound snoring, it seems like the rest of the team and training staff are pretty much asleep. They’re all worn out with finishing out the season, and the playoffs, and almost getting their asses kicked in the last series, and most recently, the game two win over Barrie. The excitement of taking the series back to their barn, and being one step closer to repeating as OHL champions, is palpable.

Taylor’s in the seat beside him, somehow still awake. “Hey,” he says, sounding as tired as he looks when Adam glances over. “Go back to sleep.”

“Why aren’t _you_ sleeping?” Adam asks around another wide yawn.

“Can’t,” Taylor says. “I’m totally beat, bro. But I think I’m probably too tired to sleep, or something. Does that make any sense?”

“That doesn’t any make sense, no,” Adam says.

Taylor just shrugs and then winces a little.

Adam peers closely at Taylor in the weird glow emanating from the night drive. He supposes that, as much as there is on the line for the rest of them, to win this tourney, and the next one too, there’s even more at stake for the guys who are going to be draft eligible in June. They don’t talk about it, a mutual, unspoken agreement that they’re going to put the team first and worry about the rest later, but Adam remembers what it was like before the draft, the anxiety and the uncertainty. 

Every time Adam tries to ask Taylor about it, Taylor changes the topic or starts in on talking about Adam’s apparently questionable taste in men. But Adam knows that Taylor’s got it on the back of his mind, no matter what he says or doesn’t say. It’s in the way he’s been playing full-out kamikaze-style, like every game might be the last. Adam’s starting to feel like a shitty friend for not doing anything to try and put him more at ease.

So Adam makes the executive decision to do something about it now and pulls an extra sweatshirt out of his backpack, bunching it in his lap. “Here,” he says, patting it. “It’s clean. My billet mom washed it before we left.”

Taylor stares incredulously at him. “You want me to do _what_?”

“Shut up, Hallsy,” Adam says, rolling his eyes, and pulls Taylor’s head into his lap; Taylor goes easily, lying down and curling up instinctively on his side. Adam takes this as his cue to slide his hand up between Taylor’s layers of hoody and t-shirt, digging his fingers into the space between Taylor’s shoulder blades against the knots he knows he’s going to inevitably find there.

Taylor lets out a hiss of breath when Adam pushes hard against a particularly stubborn knot. “Don’t pop out my shoulder,” he warns. “Oh, and don’t pop a boner, either, okay?”

“Boner-wise, you really don’t do it for me. Mostly because you’re an idiot. And your mug’s kind of hard to look at,” Adam says, pushing harder. “Also, is that a thing that happens? Still? Like, your shoulder, I mean?”

“Dunno,” Taylor says. “Sometimes.”

“Why don’t you just get it fixed already?”

“Eh,” Taylor says blithely. “It’ll get fixed when it needs to get fixed.” And then he doesn’t say anything for several minutes, so neither does Adam as he carefully works his hands across Taylor’s back.

Finally, Taylor sighs in relief, relaxing against Adam and smiling blissfully. “Henny, man,” he says. “You’re going to make a great boyfriend, I bet.”

Adam grins wryly. “Because I treat you right?”

“Totally,” Taylor agrees around a yawn, his eyes slipping shut. “You’re irresistible. Let’s date.”

Adam laughs. “Go to sleep, you non,” he says, hand still resting against Taylor’s back, and closes his eyes.

The next time Adam wakes up, the beginnings of morning light are starting to trickle in through the windows, and Dale Mitchell is hanging over the seat in front of them with a mischievous grin and his phone aimed at them, undoubtedly set to video camera mode.

“What?” Adam’s not quite awake yet; his legs are getting desperate for a stretch, but Taylor’s still hunched over and asleep in his lap, so he doesn’t.

“Adorable,” Dale says. He keeps his camera trained on them. “Hey, how come I never got to use you as a pillow when I was on your line?”

“Sorry Mitchell. Superstars only,” Adam deadpans.

“Hey, man. I scored the game winner last night. That should count for something.”

“There’s no ‘I’ in team,” Taylor mumbles, apparently awake. Adam considers shoving him off his lap, but Taylor doesn’t move. Against his better judgement, Adam lets him stay.

“True,” Dale agrees cheerfully. “But there’s a ‘me’!”

“Leave the future playoff MVP alone,” Taylor says. He opens his eyes to glare at Dale.

Dale reaches over to tweak Taylor’s nose. “You?”

Taylor swats at him. “No,” he says impatiently. “ _Henny_. His stats are out of this world. Go check OHL dot com.”

“ _Well_. In that case, hey, future OHL playoff MVP, the kid currently lying on your crotch is a freak,” Dale solemnly addresses Adam, grinning.

“Probably,” Adam agrees. “Think I’ll keep him anyway. He’s a better linemate than you ever were.”

“You’re just jealous, Mitchell,” Taylor adds. “Go away. Me and Henny’s crotch are having a moment.”

Dale just laughs. “Well, that escalated quickly,” he says, turning off his camera and stuffing it back into his pocket, still grinning.

-

For the first time in years, October begins without Adam living in Windsor. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking forward to this, after they’d won the Memorial Cup again, and all the way through the summer on his parents’ farm. But it’s the beginning of the new season and Adam’s living in Albany, ever-closer to playing in the NHL.

The thing is, most of his old teammates have also left Windsor too: Eric’s in Adirondack, Cam’s down in Anaheim, Greg’s gone to Abbotsford; even their old coach’s moving up, landing himself a coaching job in Columbus. And Taylor had ended up getting drafted high, and it even looks like he’s going to stay with Edmonton for the year.

(“See?” Taylor says when he calls Adam during the pre-season, after all the predictable _hey_ s and _how are you_ s and _got a boyyyyyfriend yet?_ s of every time Taylor ever calls him. “Killed it. Wasn’t worried about the draft at all. I’m _awesome_.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Adam informs him. “You’re as bad at lying as you are at breakaways. And you’re fucking terrible at breakaways.”

Taylor just laughs and doesn’t refute him.)

Harry ends up going down to Albany with Adam and it’s actually really nice to have a friendly face in this new city, even if it’s one that rarely smiles—he tells Harry as much, one time. Harry just nods and tells him that’s funny, which makes Adam laugh for five minutes straight, so at least there’s that. They get a place together, and that makes the transition easier. But Albany is bigger than Windsor; the stakes seem higher, the arena’s bigger.

So he does what he always does: plays hockey, makes friends, dates girls, works out, does his best, keeps tabs on his boys scattered across the continent.

“Congratulations on your first goal,” he says, when he calls Taylor at the end of October to check in on him. “Took you fucking long enough.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Taylor says. “Against the Blue Jackets too, just to show up Boughie, right?” He pauses. “God, I was nervous as hell to play against him.”

Adam remembers the way that Taylor used to give interviews, calm and practiced, but always seemed to bite his nails down to the quick before big games. Adam knows there’s no use in asking him about that, that he’d probably just get a smirk in response, but Adam always did try to keep an eye on him during times like that. “That bad?”

“It’s just so different up here,” Taylor says. “Not like the O at all. Everything’s…faster. Guys are more skilled. Bet it’s the same in the AHL.”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees.

“It’s tough, bro,” Taylor says. “And I hate not being good at things.”

“You don’t, actually,” Adam points out helpfully. “You just hate being bad at things you care about.”

“It’s not even just hockey anymore though,” Taylor says. “We gotta, like, pay rent, and do laundry, and cook, and like. I just…” He pauses. “Did I tell you about how the medical staff told me I’ve had really high blood pressure since training camp?”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “…you okay?”

“Yeah, no everything’s fine. They said it was just, like, anxiety? But, like, I don’t get anxious. I don’t do nervous.”—Adam thinks about calling him out on that, but Taylor doesn’t seem to be finished, so he lets him continue—“The other rookies on my team, Ebs and Maggie and Pecks and the other guys, they seem to pretty much have their shit together. I just need to get my shit together too, I guess. Scoring my first goal might be a good start.”

Adam considers this for a moment. “So you miss us, is what you’re saying.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Taylor says. “I like living with Ebs. I don’t miss Mark and Mitchell putting shaving cream in my skates.”

“You miss Mark and Mitchell though. You miss us not caring that you don’t have your shit together.”

“Well. Yeah. I miss that. I miss Windsor. I miss our team.”

_Me too_ , Adam doesn’t say. Somehow, he thinks Taylor might understand anyway. He sighs. “Did Boughie say anything to you after the game?” he asks instead.

Taylor laughs at that, sounding a little less wistful now. “Oh yeah. He called me a little shit and told me it was a greasy goal. But we had dinner together after. It was good.”

“He always did like me better,” Adam points out.

“Shut up, Henny.” Taylor says. He pauses. “It was weird seeing Boughie on the other side of the ice though.”

“I bet,” Adam says sincerely.

Taylor clears his throat. “So how are you? How’s Albany? How’s living with Younger? Does he at least smile in his sleep?”

“Yeah, it’s all right. Younger’s okay too. You know how it is.”

“Is the city full of manrockets?” Taylor asks.

“Dunno,” Adam says. “I haven’t met anyone in Albany. It’s hard to know about people. I think...it’s just tough? Since no one, you know. _Knows_.”

“Come visit! I can find you a boyfriend here.” Taylor pauses. “Or at least a hook up? If we went somewhere no one recognized you, maybe?”

“Why are you so obsessed with finding me a boyfriend?” Adam wants to know. “It’s weird.”

“I just want you to be happy!” Taylor insists.

“I _am_ happy, dumbass.”

“Sure,” Taylor says. “But I think...I think having a boyfriend would make you _more_ happy. And you, you know. Deserve to be happy.”

Adam pauses for a long moment to think about this. “...where did _that_ come from?” he finally asks.

“I Googled it,” Taylor says immediately, and doesn’t even protest that much when Adam ends up laughing too hard to continue their conversation.

It’s weird, living here in Albany where there’s a part of him that nobody knows. It’s a little lonely, even though Taylor’s pretty much still always glued to his phone and texts Adam at least six times a day. But Adam tries his best because sometimes that’s all you can do. He learns to navigate the city; he learns how to carve out his own place on the team. And slowly, things start to make sense—he finds that he likes where he is, that he’s making new friends, that for the first time in years he can think about Greg, all the way up in British Columbia, without having that weird fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Adam thinks about coming out to his family, and Eric, a friend so close he’s practically family. He thinks about coming out to Harry, too; he’s a good guy, and sometimes Adam still thinks of him as _Captain_ , but still. 

He doesn’t. Not yet. 

It’s a bit of a lonely year, but really, it’s not that bad. And maybe next year will be even better. 

-

Before the end of the season, Harry asks Adam if he wants to get a place together in Windsor for the summer. They work pretty well as roommates in Albany, so it seems almost natural to agree; it also seems like the most logical next step in his life as he tiptoes toward independence and adulthood.

He makes the executive decision to come out to his family that summer. He loves his family so it seems like the right thing to do, because Adam decides that this will be the year of honesty and the year that he figures out who he is.

“I’m gay,” Adam says softly, while visiting his parents’ farm for Sunday night dinner during a lull at dinner over his mother’s roasted chicken.

“What?” his older brother asks.

“I’m _gay_ ,” Adam repeats, louder this time.

Everyone at the table suddenly goes silent. His parents stare at each other in silence; his brothers are looking around the room trying not to meet anybody else’s eyes. 

“Pass the potatoes?” his dad asks, finally, still diligently avoiding looking at Adam.

The rest of dinner is awkward. Adam sits through the rest of it mechanically shovelling his potatoes and salad into his mouth. Afterward, his parents don’t ask him to leave, but he’s pretty sure his mom’s been trying to blink back tears all evening so, quietly, Adam does anyway.

The drive back to Windsor is shitty and Adam’s lonely and scared like he hasn’t felt in years. He considers calling Taylor to get him to talk him through this, or at least act as a distraction; he even has his number pulled up on his cell phone. But Adam figures that there are some things that he’s going to need to do on his own, and puts his phone away. 

(He checks his messages when he pulls up in his parking space at his apartment. There’s only one text, and it’s from his baby brother, Shay. It says _**sorry i didnt say nething @ dinner. we still bros & ill fuck up ne1 who tries 2 fuck with u**_

Adam stares at this text for a long time, and can’t decide if it makes him want to laugh or cry.)

-

The radio silence from his family doesn’t last, not really. They still call and email, and Adam still has the standing invitation for Sunday dinner, but the fact that he’s gay never gets brought up, as if he’s never said anything at all. So Adam doesn’t say anything about it again, and keeps his mouth shut about it at the dinner table while his dad talks about next year’s crops or when Mike talks about his upcoming vacation plans with his girlfriend. 

The only one who does acknowledge it as A Thing is Shay, who texts him stupid shit like **_wanna go shopping with me cuz u should have good taste now_** or **_u a pitcher or catcher._**

( ** _stupid question cuz i play hockey_** Adam replies to the latter text, feeling pretty proud of himself. Shay’s a good kid: he’s joined his high school’s tiny LGBTQ alliance group and the weird stereotype texts come in less and less often as he’s learning about what it means to be a good and supportive ally.

For a brief moment, Adam considers putting Shay in touch with Taylor. Then he remembers that they’re both ridiculous human beings and would probably make his life a terrible place if they ever came into regular communication with each other. But though he’d never admit it to either of them, he appreciates what they’ve been doing for him, all the support and even the so-called research; it saves him the trouble of having to do it himself, and Adam wouldn’t even know where to start.)

Adam has a shitty training camp in September and ends up starting the next season in Albany again. He makes the most of it though, and does eventually get called up to New Jersey. This time it’s different; this time he stays, and doesn’t get sent back down. And then he’s being told that he and Adam Larsson are going to be the future of this franchise, so keep on keeping on, do their best and help the team.

“Fuck yeah!” Larsson says brightly and holds a fist out for Adam to bump. Larsson is calm, cheerful, and just as passionate about hockey as Adam is. Management suggests that, since they’re both rookies, they could get to know the city, the league, the town together. Adam moves in with David Clarkson’s family, but becomes road roommates with Larsson. They get on well—they even become friends and spend their off-time together, playing video games and hanging out.

Coming out to Larsson is kind of an accident, but Adam’s starting to feel like he doesn’t have anything to lose anymore, really, and makes the executive decision to do it. It’s a Friday afternoon and they’re watching stupid daytime talk shows before settling down for their respective pre-game naps. Adam doesn’t remember the line of conversation they were in the middle of, just that Larsson’s easy to talk to and a comfortable, familiar presence.

Larsson doesn’t say anything for a long moment. It seems, however, that once the initial shock wears off, Larsson is more than comfortable with it—

“Me and you, we watch _Modern Family_ together,” Larsson tells him very seriously, after a couple minutes of patting Adam’s back supportively. “And I am from _Sweden_. People in my country love ABBA and Eric Saade. And like... _Gabe_.” He perks up, like something’s just occurred to him. “Hey, Rico, you into Gabe? I got a question if you are. Everyone’s so into him, what does he have the rest of us don’t?”

Adam blinks, confused. “That’s, like...stereotyping. And who’s Eric Saade?”

“Oh man,” Larsson says. “You know the song ‘Manboy’?”

“...No?”

“Like. ‘Manboy, manboy, you can call me manboy’?” Larsson sings tunelessly.

If possible, Adam’s confusion deepens. “...Sweden’s weird, man.”

Larsson shrugs. “We’re the best,” he says. “But what I mean is, everything’s cool. I am happy you told me.”

“Most people don’t know yet,” Adam says. “So…”

“—yeah,” Larsson says, nodding. “Of course. Not my thing to tell anyways.” He throws a friendly arm around Adam’s shoulder. “But I will be there with you if you want to do that, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, and can’t help but smile and feels a lot better than he has in a long time.

-

(Adam’s mom calls him in late November; he wavers for a moment when he sees the caller ID, but it’s his _mom_. They had been close when he was growing up, and she’s seen him at both his worst and his best, and Adam can’t find it in himself to just let it ring.

The first thing out of her mouth is _I’m sorry_. His first instinct is to reply with _It’s okay_. Even though it’s not, not right now anyway, and they both know it. 

But maybe, someday soon, it could be.

They talk for almost an hour; mostly she asks a lot of questions he doesn’t have answers to (“But you always had girlfriends, growing up! When did that change?”), and she has lots of things to say about the whole situation, ranging from concerned (“Are you okay?”) to annoying (“But you never seemed gay, growing up!”) to awkward (“Are you using condoms?”) to just plain weird (“Do you have a boyfriend? Suzy at work has a gay neighbour: we could introduce you!”). She wants to know if Adam’s out to his team; frets about whether or not being a gay hockey player will make it harder for him in the future.

Adam’s mom says a lot of things about him coming out, but at the tail-end of her flurry of words, she says one more thing, the most important thing to Adam of all:

“I still love you, kiddo,” she says, softly, sincerely. “We all do. Me, your brothers, your dad, too, even if they don’t say it. No matter what, okay?”

And yeah, despite everything, that’s definitely more than okay with Adam.)

-

One week before Christmas break, Adam gets in touch with Eric before he can lose his nerve and comes out to him via text message. There’s probably a better way to do it, but at the moment, this seems less terrifying than doing it face to face.

Eric’s response is almost instant: **_haha fuckin funny._**

**_no srsly. welly. im gay._** Adam messages back.

Eric doesn’t reply.

-

The thing about being up with New Jersey is that the group of guys here treat him like he’s one of their own. It’s no Windsor, but Adam’s not a teenager anymore, so he makes it work. It’s part of growing up, he imagines. The older you get, the harder it seems to be to make friends. But the guys in New Jersey do their best to make Adam feel at home and he appreciates that.

Adam’s not sure he wants to come out to anyone else; not after how things had gone down with his family, especially not after the debacle with Eric. On the bright side, to the best of his knowledge, Eric hasn’t spread the news unsolicited to anyone else, probably because his loyalty still outweighs his disappointment. Adam supposes that he should count that as a little victory even if it doesn’t feel like one right now.

But suddenly there’s lots of talk around the league about how it needs to be a more accepting place, how people need to be more accommodating and open. The You Can Play initiative gets launched, and suddenly guys are stepping up to talk about how they’d welcome a gay player in the room. Adam’s captain, Zach Parise, even makes a point of making that exact announcement in the room before a game in early December. A lot of the guys scoff and roll their eyes as Zach does his spiel in that earnest Minnesotan way about him, but Adam knows that Zach’s not kidding when he says that he’d be supportive of anyone in the room who happened to be gay.

Spurred on by a sudden bout of confidence, Adam swallows his misgivings and makes the executive decision to quietly come out to his captain in the near future, and ends up knocking on Zach’s hotel room door the next time they’re on a road trip.

“When you said we could come talk to you about…stuff. Did you mean that?” Adam asks, shifting a bit nervously in the hallway in front of Zach’s hotel room after morning skate.

“Of course!” Zach says and quickly ushers him into the hotel room. He flashes an easy, welcoming grin at Adam, and Adam can’t help but smile back despite how nervous he currently feels. “What’s up, rookie?”

“I’m gay,” Adam says. “Uh. Not really out though. Appreciate it if you didn’t, you know. Tell lots of people or whatever. But I just…I dunno….” he trails off.

“Okay,” Zach says slowly. “Okay. Yeah.” He chews on his lower lip, thinking. “You know, so’s my brother.”

“Really?” Adam asks, looking up with interest.

“No,” Zach admits ruefully, still smiling, albeit sheepishly now. “But didn’t that make you feel better for, like, five seconds?”

Adam tries to hide a smile. “Maybe?”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Zach says. “Are you out to anyone else right now?”

“Larsson,” Adam says. “And, uh. Hallsy? Taylor Hall. In Edmonton. He was the first one who I ever told, actually. Back in juniors.”

“That’s it?” Zach wants to know. “Not even your family?”

“Yeah, them too,” Adam says. “But, you know.” He shrugs.

“Okay,” Zach says. “That’s...okay. I’m sorry. But hey, I’m glad you’ve got people who have your back.” He pats Adam’s shoulder. “Me too though, okay? If you ever need me for anything. I’m here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, knowing that he means it, and smiles. 

-

The Devils don’t have a game in Edmonton until January, but Taylor’s already been excitedly making lunch plans months in advance; Adam’s pretty sure that when they actually do end up meeting in Edmonton, it’s going to be super anti-climactic.

(“You gonna pay for me? Take me out and treat me right?” Adam teases.

“Fuck you,” Taylor says, in a way that always means yes.)

“Ebby did a ‘You Can Play’ ad," Taylor reports, over soup, salad, and sandwiches. “And you know Ryan Whitney? My buddy Whit, he’s all super pressed that Patrick Burke never asked him to do one.” He snickers. “See? Things are good. They’re changing.”

“That’s cool,” Adam says, because it kind of really _is_. 

“People care,” Taylor continues, gesticulating with his spoon still in hand. “So…like. If you, you know. Want to one day...come out? You could. If you wanted to, I mean.”

Adam picks up his sandwich. “You thinking about doing one of those commercials?”

“Why would I do one? I’m _living_ it,” Taylor says smugly.

That startles a laugh out of Adam. “You’re a dumbass,” he tells Taylor, not for the first time, but this time he supposes that the dumbass has a point, maybe. “Isn’t that why you’re supposed to do one?”

“Why don’t _you_ do an ad?” Taylor asks.

Adam chews carefully a few times before swallowing. “Because it’s not called ‘I Can Play’?” he finally says.

Taylor laughs. “You’re an idiot. I was Googling about it? And the Internet says that you’re in a position of privilege? So if you came out in support of gay rights, because you were gay, people would care and it would make a difference. They kept saying stuff like ‘check your privilege.’ But that’s super confusing because the golden rule is that I should never, ever tell you to do something you don’t want to do, _especially_ to come out if you’re not comfortable with that. So.”

“I don’t even know what that means. What does that even mean?”

“I’m not a hundred percent clear on that one,” Taylor says. “I might have to Google it a bit more, do some more research, you know?”

“One of these days, I’m going put those locks on your phone that keep kids from going on the internet or looking up weird things. Totally gonna do that to your phone.”

“But _Henny_ ,” Taylor whines.

Adam ignores him, pressing onward. “And it’s…not like, you know. I want this to be a secret, or whatever. I’m just, you know.” Not brave enough yet. “Not ready yet.”

Taylor pauses at that, seems to sober up a bit. “Hey, hey, that’s cool. Fuck all that, it’s about you, okay? I’m here if you need me whenever you are. I’ll fight whoever gives you shit.”

“Please don’t. I’ve seen you fight. We’d both be so boned.”

“I’d do one if you asked me to,” Taylor says, suddenly serious. “A commercial for ‘You Can Play,’ I mean. If you wanted me to.”

“Thanks,” Adam says sincerely, and means it and thinks about how lucky he is to have someone who gives a shit about Adam’s life.

But then, of course, Taylor ruins the moment by reaching into his backpack under the table and pulling out a folded stack of paper, which he then unceremoniously hands to Adam.

Adam eyes the paper warily. “Is this another shirtless photo of Lecavalier? If it is, thanks but I don’t want it.”

Taylor gives him a look of irritation. “Just look at it, will you?”

Adam unfolds the sheaf of haphazardly stapled papers and peers at them in disbelief, taking in the pieces of colour-coded, legal-sized papers, with columns and rows of meticulously labelled information. “What is this?”

“It’s a list! Of gay bars and gay-friendly places for the thirty NHL cities,” Taylor says proudly. “Red for bars, purple for bathhouses, yellow for LGBT centres, blue for gay friendly restaurants, orange for miscellaneous. You know, all that good stuff!” 

Adam stares at these papers for a long time. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Adam asks.

Taylor shrugs. “Use it?” he suggests. “For gay hookups? Or like. Meeting gay people?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Adam says, trying not to roll his eyes. He folds up the papers but doesn’t hand them back.

Taylor whimpers. “All my research. Wasted. Hours on Google. Hours, Henny! I read reviews about bathhouses on gaylife dot com for you, bro!”

“And I appreciate that,” Adam says. “But—”

“—Oh!” Taylor interrupts, brightening up again. “Hey, and I found this other thing, too? It’s called Grindr. You know about this?”

“…no?”

“You can find out where gay bros are, for hook ups. And like, an online dating website? You should test out the site! You should make a profile and do that, like. Right now.”

“Ugh,” Adam says. “You do it.”

“Already did,” Taylor says. He sounds smug. “Gaybro2012, bitch! You could use the app, too. Download it to your phone! Then you’ll always know where other gay bros are, ‘cuz it can track locations on your phone so it’ll tell you where all the other guys who have the app are. And then you can do a hook up.”

“I hate you.”

“There’s this one dude, Gayboi92. You should go for him. He lives in Edmonton, I think.”

“Seriously, I fucking hate you so much. One day, everyone’s gonna think you’re gay.”

“My road roomie totally found the app on my phone already, bro. Long hair, don’t care,” Taylor says smugly.

Adam rolls his eyes. It seems as good time as any to jump to the next line of conversation, something that’s been weighing down on him for weeks now. He takes a deep breath. “Hey, you know I told Welly, right?”

“About what?” Taylor says around a mouthful of salad. “Wait, what are we talking about?”

Adam just stares at him until understanding dawns on Taylor’s face.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, swallowing. “Yeah, okay. And?”

“And he hasn’t talked to me since,” Adam says. “That was, like, before Christmas.”

Taylor looks like he’s going to say something, and then changes his mind before he can. “That doesn’t sound like Welly,” he finally seems to settle on.

“Yeah, well.” Adam just shrugs helplessly, tearing off a chunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth.

“Dude, he’s your bestie. He’s supposed to have your back no matter what!”

“‘Bestie’?” Adam notes in disbelief. “We’re not seven year old girls.”

“Sometimes you guys kind of act like you are,” Taylor says.

“Eat shit and die.”

Taylor makes a non-committal humming sound, before screwing up his face like he’s thinking for a moment. “Maybe he’s just…confused?” he finally offers.

Adam raises an eyebrow. “ _He’s_ confused? That’s the best you got?”

Taylor holds up his hands in defence. “Hey, I know, I know. But hear me out. Okay…so you know like. For example, when me and you are playing together, and you’re cutting through the middle and I’m coming down the wing, and you pass to me and I know that I’m going to get it on the tape without even looking up. Because we’ve done it a million times and it always, always works?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, even if you’ve done it hundreds of times and everything’s great, there’ll be this _one time_ when you’ll get caught with your head down and suddenly your face gets smashed into the glass. And it doesn’t matter that every other time was perfect, this time fucking sucks.”

Adam thinks this over for a moment before deciding that he has no idea what Taylor’s talking about. “So?”

“It’s a metaphor,” Taylor says triumphantly.

“For what?”

Impatiently, Taylor rolls his eyes. “Welly probably feels blindsided because you being into dudes came out of nowhere for him. He’s your best friend and he never suspected, never _thought_ that could be something that was happening in your life. Not saying that makes it okay that he’s being a huge non about it, but that might be what happened.”

Adam stares a Taylor for a long moment before sighing. “I guess,” Adam says. Maybe Taylor’s right. Doesn’t make it suck any less though, and Adam tells him as much.

Taylor nods in sympathy. “Want me to yell at him for you?”

Adam shakes his head.

“Got it, none of my business, staying out of it,” Taylor says. And then, more gently, “He’ll come around, you know. You guys go way back. You’re important to him. Just give him some time to get his head out of his ass.” He offers a wry smile, which Adam finds himself tentatively returning. 

“Your metaphor was stupid, by the way,” Adam manages, changing the subject. “Because _you_ never skate with your head up.”

“Hey now,” Taylor says as if Adam hadn’t unsubtly switched lines of conversation all of a sudden. “I’m working on it.”

Adam just smirks before picking up his spoon and going back to his soup as the two of them lapse into companionable silence for the first time all meal. He’s not going to say it out loud, but he’s glad that Taylor’s here; he’s pretty sure Taylor knows, anyway.

(That night, during the pre-game skate, Adam looks over and sees Zach and Taylor having a conversation over at centre ice. After a brief moment of hesitation, Adam skates over just in case his presence is required.

“—thanks for having my rookie’s back, Hall,” Zach’s saying, nodding.

“No problem,” Taylor says calmly, in that way where he’s trying to pretend he’s cool while trying not to explode with unadulterated glee on the inside.

Zach nods solemnly and skates away, patting Taylor on the back and squeezing Adam’s shoulder.

Taylor turns to Adam with a familiar grin of delight on his face as he shifts from foot to foot.

“What?” Adam asks warily.

“Zach Parise knows who I am!” Taylor sing-songs.

“You guys play in the same league. Of course he knows who you are, dumbass.”

“Shut up,” Taylor says, but he’s still grinning as he backs away and all Adam can do is laugh.)

-

Adam fucks up his groin during the game against Edmonton. It sucks because on one hand, it’s sore as hell, but Taylor also proceeds to make fun of him for it for the next few weeks because he’s a total asshole.

When Adam’s injury extends to the All-Star game and results in him having to bow out of the Young Stars game, apparently that’s the cue for Taylor to stop making fun of him and actually express some sincere concern for him with badly spelt text messages. 

Taylor’s ridiculously bad at actually talking about things though, so when he calls Adam later that week, Adam’s not even sure what he should be expecting—

“I’m having a crisis,” Taylor blurts out, as soon as Adam picks up.

Adam rolls his eyes even though Taylor won’t be able to see him doing it. “Hey Henny, how are you Henny, thanks for picking up the phone even though I’m a dumbass, Henny,” he prompts.

Taylor ignores him. “A thing happened.”

Adam sighs. “Okay?”

Taylor pushes on. “Like. Well. I was watching SportsCentre highlights? And then there was footage of Ebby’s goal from this evening? And, I mean, it was a total beauty. But still.”

“And?”

“Well.” Taylor pauses dramatically. “I got the weirdest boner.”

Adam sighs again. “I hate you.”

“I Googled it,” Taylor continues, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. “But nothing came up.”

“I think that just means you’re…really into hockey?” Adam tries.

“Am I...” Taylor lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “Gay for hockey?” 

Adam bites his lip, trying not to laugh at Taylor’s misguided attempt at cheering him up. It’s kind of working, but Adam doesn’t want to give him this one—it’d be too easy. “Or Ebs,” Adam adds helpfully.

“There are worst things to be gay for, probably,” Taylor notes.

“Pretty sure you’re not gay,” Adam says, playing along. And then, “Hey. Thanks.”

(The next day, Adam takes a photo of the empty ice rink at the Prudential Center before his daily check-in with the team doctors, and sends it to Taylor with the caption **_nudes of your boyfriend_**

The only response he gets is **_:( y is my boyfriend a devils fan tho??:( :( :(_** )

Injuries are definitely part of the game, though, like ebbs and flows, and eventually Adam does feel better and get to play again. He gets back into the swing of things, and things are good, great even. And then suddenly it’s a few weeks later, and TSN’s Twitter-feed is telling him that Taylor’s got a concussion, and then the week after that, NHL.com’s top story is about how Taylor’s getting season ending surgery for a shoulder problem he’s had since juniors. Adam can’t help but roll his eyes, even as he’s reaching for his phone.

“Idiot,” Adam greets, when Taylor finally picks up. “Stop fucking skating with your head down. You okay?”

Taylor doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t hang up either, which Adam counts as a minor victory.

“I guess _this_ was the time to get the shoulder fixed, eh?” Adam says lightly, dredging up an old conversation from yesteryear, though he has no doubt that Taylor will know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Fuck off,” Taylor says. He sounds tired.

“Brain damage too, huh?” Adam can’t help but add.

Taylor sighs. “Lay off, eh?”

“It’ll be better after,” Adam says, doing his best to convey his conviction. He really hopes he does. “Imagine having two good shoulders, eh?”

“But what if it’s not?” Taylor ventures, his voice suddenly uncharacteristically soft and unsure. “What if _I’m_ not?”

“You will be,” Adam says firmly.

“But how do you know that?”

“I don’t,” Adam says. He takes a deep breath. “But like…okay. So I’m bad at advice too. But listen, how the fuck are you going to make stuff work with your team if you don’t take care of your own shit first? Get better. Make your body stop falling apart, because you’re gonna need that to try your best, right? And that’s the most important part, I think.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that Adam thinks that Taylor might have hung up the phone. 

And then, finally, “…I’m going to have a lot of free time to find you a boyfriend,” Taylor says.

That startles a laugh out of Adam, and somehow he knows, just _knows_ , that everything’s going to be okay. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay, yeah, there’s that.”

-

Adam doesn’t, in fact, end up with a boyfriend that season, too busy making the post-season with his team— _Hero_ , Larsson tells him, grinning impossibly wide, later, after Adam pots the series winning goal against the Panthers in overtime. 

Before the Devils face the Flyers in the second round of the playoffs, Adam gets three texts in rapid succession from Eric Wellwood:

**_sorry i was a ass bout the whole thing. ur the best, do ur thing & i got ur back always_ **

and

**_just want u 2 b happy_ **

and

**_still gonna fukin beat ur team in the playoffs tho!!!_ **

Adam stares at these texts for a long time. Finally, he smiles and thinks for a long moment before typing out his reply: **_thanx welly. u can buy me a drink after we kick ur asses_**

They beat the Flyers, and the Rangers, too— _Holy fuck!_ Zach screams with elation, grabbing Adam’s jersey and shaking him excitedly, after Adam somehow manages another series winning goal against New York. His mother calls every two days to remind him how proud she is of him; Shay sends him links to articles about badass and successful gay athletes with a note that declares that Adam’s more awesome than anyone on that list. By the time game one of the Finals rolls around, Adam’s starting to feel like everything’s lighter than it has been in a long time.

They don’t beat the Kings.

It sucks.

_Next time_ , Adam thinks to himself the morning after when the sun still rises. _We’ll be even better_. 

-

The summer’s going to be a short one for Adam as he splits his time between Burford on the farm and Windsor where he still lives with Harry and hangs out with Eric, but he can’t really say that he minds all that much. Things with Eric are still a little stilted after the last year, but they’re also better now. They’re still not talking about Adam’s coming out, not explicitly, but there’s just too much history between Eric and Adam to let their friendship fizzle out, and Adam’s glad that he still has Eric in his life. 

It’s not easy, but nothing ever really is. Still, it’s nice to sit together on the balcony side by side under the overcast night sky long after Harry’s excused himself to go to bed like the old man he secretly is. Adam and Eric both laugh at Eric’s story about the new hilarious crash diet that his brother’s going on this season, and Adam catches himself feeling like everything’s eventually going to be okay between them. It’s something he knows, something he believes in; Adam’s always been realistic about his optimism, and this is just one of those things.

He also gets a phone call from Zach, who tells him gently, apologetically, that he’s leaving the Devils organization, and that he wanted Adam to know before he makes the official public announcement. He tells Adam “I’m sorry” and “good luck,” and “I’m still here for you if you need me for anything.” Adam only half-hears what Zach’s saying: he knows that it’s a decision that Zach has to make for himself, for reasons that no one else will understand. But Adam had liked having the support of his captain and teammate, liked that if anything were to happen, his captain would have had his back. 

Adam does his best to be respectful and understanding while he’s still on the phone, but he can’t help but feel like he’s effectively been shoved back into the closet at a professional level. It feels like taking a step back, after taking two steps forward, an unwieldy reminder that nothing’s ever easy, that one day things could get better, but until then it’s going to be hard.

It’s no easy thing, but Adam does his best to look forward, to distract himself. His summer training routine helps, and so does catching up with old friends in Windsor; the Spitfires are doing a mini-reunion alumni game for charity at the end of July, which Adam looks forward to with great anticipation. He even catches himself counting down the days until they all meet up again.

The reunion weekend with the charity game doesn’t disappoint, as familiar faces trickle back into town and they all lapse back into familiar inside jokes and patterns. It’s comforting, this reminder of how things used to be, but it’s also a startling recognition of how much everything’s changed—even though it’s only been two years, it’s jarring how much older everyone suddenly looks. Mostly though, Adam’s just relieved that Greg spotting him and bounding over for a bear hug results only in a genuine fondness for an old friend, and not the weird fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach from long ago.

(Taylor gives Adam a knowing look from across the dressing room. Behind Greg’s back, Adam very resolutely flips Taylor the bird and not for the first time, wishes he had never had his embarrassing teenage crush confession coaxed out of him. Taylor just shrugs and goes back to unsubtly glaring at Eric.)

The game is as fun and ridiculous as Adam had imagined it would be, maybe even more so. Predictably though, Dale announces that all of ‘the boys’ needed to go out for a drink together afterward. He’s met with very little resistance, as one drink becomes two becomes a second bar becomes a pub crawl, and before Adam knows it, he’s on his fifth or sixth drink, and Taylor’s crowding up behind him at the bar.

“You plan on picking up tonight?” Taylor demands.

Adam shakes his head curiously as he picks up his pint glass, pleased at how the beer barely sloshes over the side. “Why?”

“Good,” Taylor says. “‘cuz the girl I dated when I was like sixteen’s here and I don’t wanna go home with her? But if I get super drunk, which I probably, you know, already am, I probably will. So you need to let me stick with you so that doesn’t happen.”

“Should I ask what’s so bad about that happening?” Adam asks before taking a tentative sip of his drink.

Taylor groans. “Okay, so I slept with her a few years back, yeah? She’s still super hot. But if I sleep with her now, doesn’t that turn into a weird time machine situation?”

Adam blinks. “I want to say that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever told me, but that would be a lie.”

Taylor raises an eyebrow. “Dumbest thing I’ve ever said? Remember the time _you_ asked _me_ if _Waiting to XXXhale_ was a porno?”

“Not the point!” Adam says loudly and busies himself with downing the rest of his pint.

In his quieter moments, when Adam thinks about it—and not that he devotes a lot of brain power to this, because _really_ —when it comes down to it, he might have actually been inspired to come out in the first place because of Taylor. Taylor, who never could tell a lie, unless it was about something actually important. That’s one part stupid and maybe equal parts brave, Adam thinks. 

So maybe, just maybe, he could be brave, too.

Then again, Taylor’s always been reckless in all the ways that Adam’s been careful. While Adam learns that it’s okay to be honest about himself, that it’s important to do that as a facet of self-care, he thinks that maybe recklessness isn’t the same thing as bravery. And maybe that’s an important lesson to learn, too, when becoming the person you one day want to be.

He mentions it to Taylor, later, that night, dutifully glued to his side as they lose track of how many drinks each of them have had. Taylor just shrugs a shoulder at him and offers a rueful grin. “I know that,” he says. “Being reckless doesn’t mean that you’re brave. I mean, I know that _now_.”

“Maybe figuring that out is the brave part?” Adam suggests, licking his lips, more than a little drunk. “And, like, knowing that things need to be different, maybe? And knowing when to ask for help?”

Taylor stares at him for a long time. “I’m too drunk to be having this conversation,” he finally says, throwing his arm around Adam’s shoulder and leaning over to press his nose against Adam’s neck. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re probably braver than I ever was.”

(For the first, last, and only time since they’ve known each other, they kiss that night when they make it back to Adam’s apartment, up against the inside of Adam’s closed bedroom door. There’s nothing sweet or slow about it, mouths meeting sloppily and desperately, Adam’s hands fisting the back of Taylor’s shirt, twisting the soft and washed out cotton, Taylor’s hand threaded through Adam’s hair. It tastes like tequila and warmth and sunshine. For a fleeting moment, right before the instinct of _what the fuck are we doing?_ kicks in, Adam comes to realize that this is maybe what unconditional love is like, to give yourself away and want nothing in return.

Taylor ends up pulling away before Adam does. He rubs a hand over his own face, his jawline. “Dude,” he finally says.

“I know,” Adam replies when he finally finds his voice again.

Taylor frowns and pokes himself in the cheek. “Beard burn, bro.”

They fall asleep together on Adam’s bed that night, Taylor spooning up against him in a way that’s vaguely familiar.)

Adam wakes up first the next morning, blankets pooled on the other side of the bed, Taylor’s arm still draped loosely across Adam’s waist. He slides out of the bed, pulling on a discarded t-shirt from the floor and pads over to the kitchen, somewhat hungover, to make his way directly over to the coffee maker.

“Hey,” he hears someone mumble behind him. “Morning.” It’s Harry, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, familiar and constant.

Adam just nods.

“A few guys came back with us last night,” Harry continues. “Fowler and Nemo are in the guest room. Mitchell’s on the couch, I think, and I’m pretty sure Mark’s passed out on the floor. My girlfriend said that Hallsy came back with us, too, but I didn’t see him anywhere.”

“My room,” Adam says, pulling a mug down for himself and one for Harry.

“Oh yeah?” Harry says, reaching into the refrigerator for the three-quarters-empty cream container. 

“Yeah.” Adam pauses. “Hey, Younger?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m gay,” Adam says, a rushed sentence.

Harry pauses with his head halfway in the pantry where he’s looking for sugar, and ducks out again to stare at Adam. “Goddammit,” he finally says. “I owe my girlfriend five bucks.” And then he starts muttering to himself: “ _Captain…should’ve known…dropped the ball…_ ”

Adam’s head’s reeling at Harry’s unexpected reaction, and it’s several moments before he finds his voice again. “Um, Younger?” Adam finally volunteers, interrupting his roommate’s barely coherent mumbling. “We…cool?”

“I think you broke him,” Taylor pipes up, materializing in the kitchen. He wraps an arm around Adam’s waist and rests his chin on Adam’s shoulder. “Hey, can I have some coffee too?”

Harry pauses his own monologue abruptly. “Does he know?” he asks Adam, flicking a hand in Taylor’s direction.

Adam nods.

Harry raises an eyebrow, as if something’s just occurred to him. “Is Hallsy your boyfriend?!”

Taylor’s eyes light up. “Yes!”

“ _No_ ,” Adam interjects as quickly as he can, twisting out of Taylor’s hold and trying to resist the urge to punch him in the kidneys. He turns to Harry. “He’s not my type. Plus Hallsy’s too busy getting shot down by girls and fantasizing about Jordan Eberle.”

“What?! It’s just a _bromance_!” Taylor protests. “He’s only the best winger I ever played with, okay?”

“Go tell Mitchell that,” Harry suggests dryly. “He’s passed out on the couch. Wake him up and tell him, I bet he would love to hear that.”

Taylor nods solemnly and shuffles off obediently, ostensibly to do just that. “Good morning Mitchell,” they hear. “You’re my number two favourite winger ever.” This is followed by smacking sounds, and then they hear Taylor whining, “Ow, ow, did you just…stop fucking _slapping_ me, you non!”

“Think we should go rescue him?” Harry notes, not looking terribly concerned.

“He probably woke Mitchell up by climbing on him,” Adam says. “So I think he probably deserved it.”

Harry nods in agreement, his upper lip curling into the closest thing to what he normally offers as a smile. “How about you? _You_ okay?”

“You don’t have to use your captain voice on me,” Adam says.

“I’m asking as your friend. And your roommate,” Harry says. “You just came out to me. So I’m just wondering if you’re doing okay.”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“…I got your back, you know that, right? Me and Hallsy. And whoever else…”

“A couple guys on my team. Well, I guess Parise isn’t on the team anymore.”

Harry shrugs. “Probably still got your back though. And if he doesn’t…” he trails off.

Adam grins. “Thanks, Younger.”

-

The rest of summer flies by. There are murmurings of a labour dispute that might result in a lockout in the autumn, but Adam’s always been an optimist and chooses to focus on the present instead. 

Between informal scrimmages, family dinners, and training, Adam does end up discreetly hooking up a few times that summer; one of guys is even someone he met via the Grindr app, a tall and generically handsome bro who somehow, miraculously and very fortunately, has no idea who Adam is. 

Despite Adam’s optimism, the lockout happens anyway, and come September, he finds himself in Albany again, rooming with Larsson and experiencing some serious déjà vu. The difference, though, is that this time, Larsson starts doing things like opening conversations with a mischievous grin, and offering anecdotes that begin with “So I know a guy who knows a guy, who’s single and really good looking and doesn’t know shit about hockey…” while doing something weird with his eyebrows. Adam’s not sure how to react and almost always inevitably ends up going out on these blind dates that Larsson keeps miraculously and mysteriously pulling out of thin air.

(“How do you know all these…people?” Adam finally asks Larsson one day.

“My girlfriend,” Larsson says flippantly, as if it should be plainly obvious. But it’s definitely not, so Adam continues to stare at him until Larsson relents and clarifies. “She likes girls and boys, and she tells people too, so she won’t care that I told you. But she likes me more than she likes anyone else so that’s good. Anyway, she joined some clubs so she knows so many gay people in Albany.”

“What kind of clubs?” Adam wants to know. 

Larsson smiles sheepishly. “A gay badminton league. Yeah, I am introducing you to guys who play badminton.” He pauses. “Hope that’s good.”)

The list of single, young—predominantly badminton-playing—gay bros in Albany that Larsson’s keeping track of seems to be weirdly endless. Adam decides that it sure beats another few months of celibacy, so he goes along with it and somehow finds himself going out with one of Larsson’s friend-of-friends for the fourth time to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and he’s surprised to find that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. 

It’s not anything, not really. ( _But it could be_ , Adam thinks. _Maybe_.) 

Adam maybe lets this all slip to Taylor, in November, and almost regrets it instantly. Taylor just crows about how he _totally_ knew there were more gay people in Windsor, that there are dudebros out there in Albany that Adam could totally be interested in. Adam hates when Taylor’s right; he’s completely insufferable, but Adam doesn’t hang up on him and lets him gloat for just a little while. He supposes that maybe Taylor’s kind of earned this, in some weird way.

“How come it never bothered you?” Adam finally blurts out, when Taylor takes a deep breath to interrupt his own ‘I hate to be that guy, but I’m totally gonna be that guy’ prattle.

“What?”

“You know,” Adam prompts.

“...your gayness?” Taylor guesses. “Dunno. Didn’t seem like a big deal to me. Is it a big deal?”

“Sure, sometimes.”

“Well,” Taylor says. “I mean, it’s kind of a big deal because it’s a part of who you are and maybe you’re not in the job where it’s easy to tell people about it. That part sucks and it’s a big deal. But with me and you? I mean. I like chicks. You like dicks. You’re a huge beauty and we played awesome hockey together.” Taylor pauses. “That’s all that matters, you know?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I always forget that you don’t care about anything but hockey.”

“Untrue! I care about other stuff, too!”

“Like Jordan Eberle?” Adam grins.

Taylor lets out a token squawk of protest. “Shut up!”

“Well, irregardless,” Adam says. “Thanks.”

“Autocorrect told me that wasn’t a word yesterday,” Taylor points out. “Google, too.”

“Whatever, man, I don’t care.” Adam pauses, mustering up the most courage he possibly can. “Seriously, though,” he says sincerely. “Thanks.” He hopes that Taylor understands.

“No problem,” Taylor says easily, immediately. “It gets better all the time, right?”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees. “Just gotta stick it out, I guess.” He pauses. And then, almost as an after-thought, “Never does seem to get easier though.”

“Still don’t think it’s supposed to, dumbass,” Taylor says. “You didn’t get to where you are by taking the easy way, right? And hey, I’m happy to help if you ever need it.”

“Same,” Adam says immediately. “You’re probably right. I guess things that are easy probably aren’t worth doing.”

Taylor lets out a sudden bark of laughter. “Now come on, no one said _that_!”

Adam resists the urge to roll his eyes, even though Taylor can’t see him right now. “You’re an idiot, Hallsy,” Adam tells him, but doesn’t mean a word of it. “The fucking worst.”

“You don’t mean that, you love me,” Taylor says cheerfully. “I’m adorable. And great.” And then, “Hey, so that dude you’re dating. He your new boyfriend or some shit? Relationships are dumb, bro. You should tell me more about him so I can make fun of you.”

Adam laughs and does.

 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> 01\. all my love to my betas gonetoarcadia and robi0688 for being the most patient and lovely, for reading and re-reading, and for putting up with weeks and weeks of me shouting about this story. thank you so much. you guys are the best for always. ♥
> 
> 02\. thank you to auhee for the very lovely art and the delightful mix! you are super great!
> 
> 03\. [here](http://redheartglow.livejournal.com/2236.html) is an incomplete list of things that taylor googles over the course of the story. (because as gonetoarcadia aptly pointed out, the secondary pairing of this story is probably taylor/google.)
> 
> 04\. if you've never heard eric saade's manboy, [you should](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtK7lsAdBos). it's a masterpiece of our times.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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